Some Assembly Required
by Bluecrow213
Summary: A seemingly-routine investigation of smuggling onboard a naval vessel becomes more complicated when the weapons turn out to have some unexpected characteristics, and Gibbs and his team find themselves collaborating with S.H.I.E.L.D. Rated T for implied torture, implied adult situations, mild language. I do not own any of these characters.
1. Chapter 1

Anthony DiNozzo picked up the last two cards, and carefully considered his next move. Everything hung on this decision. Once false move could mean disaster, but if he was successful, ah, then victory would be his, and he would reap the rewards! He glared intently at his opponent, who smiled back blandly. "Make your move," the other man said. DiNozzo took a deep breath, and held it, while he reached out... and placed the two cards, supporting each other in an inverted 'V', at the apex of the house of cards balanced on his desk. He let go of the cards, and moved his hands back. The elaborate tower seemed almost to float, so beautiful and intricate was its construction. DiNozzo started to turn towards the man watching, when something flew through the air, hitting a lower layer, and the house of cards collapsed. DiNozzo gave a strangled squawk and looked up, outraged, to see who had ruined his near-victory in the card building contest he'd been having with McGee.

Ziva David smirked, twirling an elastic band around her finger. "Oops!" she said, unconvincingly. DiNozzo reached to pick up the missile his partner had just launched at him; the eraser from the end of a pencil. Small but deadly, when fired from an elastic band catapult. McGee chuckled appreciatively. "That's the second steak dinner I've won off you in a week, Tony" he said with more than a hint of smugness.

"Sabotage doesn't count!" DiNozzo told him. "I claim the right to a new attempt."

He began to sweep the cards together, but before he had picked them all up, the familiar figure of his boss appeared. Behind him, Abby Sciuto hovered excitedly, clutching her go-bag. "Leave the cards, we have work to do," Gibbs told DiNozzo brusquely. "Ziva, DiNozzo, with me and Abby. McGee – you're headed to New York."

The three agents snapped into action, locking their desks and grabbing their backpacks. As they followed Gibbs to the elevator, Ziva asked, "Where are we headed?" The only reply she got was, "You'll see."

Certain he could get more out of him than Ziva, DiNozzo asked, "We going by plane or ship, boss?"

There was a ghost of a smile on Gibbs's face as the punched the elevator button. "Yup," he replied. He was looking forward to the expressions on the agents' faces when they saw their intended mode of transport!

As the military chopper touched down on the deck, DiNozzo exchanged a glance with Ziva. She looked faintly bored. After all, they'd been on an aircraft carrier before. Neither of them could see the reason for Gibbs's air of amusement during the journey. They started to get out of the helicopter, DiNozzo turning to extend a hand to Abby. "Thanks, Tony," she said with a dazzling smile. He frowned slightly; Abby had been exuding an sense of suppressed excitement during the whole trip, and he had a feeling Gibbs had told her something more than the information contained in the briefing notes. He must have; after all, investigating an illegal shipment of arms to a suspected terrorist group was – well, something like that was never routine. But it was hardly a novelty. Certainly not enough to make Abby act as if she was about to experience a longed-for treat.

They followed Gibbs as he walked over to a man waiting for them a short distance away. "FBI," DiNozzo muttered to Ziva. The man, dark-suited, with dark glasses and a slightly receding hairline, had 'fed' written all over him.

As they neared, he extended a hand towards Gibbs. "Agent Coulson," he said by way of introduction. Gibbs briefly introduced his team, then Coulson said, "Follow me. We're taking off immediately." He turned to lead them towards a hatch, and DiNozzo and Ziva exchanged puzzled glances. Were they transferring to another helicopter or a plane? Behind them, a flurry of activity began, with crew fastening down the helicopter and snapping breathing apparatus over their faces. At the same time, the sound of massive engines and rushing water filled the air, accompanied by the sensation that the aircraft carrier was rising slightly – not a rolling movement, that might accompany an ocean swell, but straight up. As if... as if the aircraft carrier itself was about to take off!

DiNozzo and Ziva exchanged another look of mystification, and were promptly brought back to attention by smacks on the backs of their heads. "Let's go," Gibbs told them, with an air of satisfaction at having achieved a rare double-slap. "Unless you're prepared to hold on to the deck _real _tight!" The agents followed him inside, each hoping that someone was going to explain what the hell was going on!


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's notes:_**

_- please bear with me - I'm posting my first drafts, so i haven't had time to go back and polish them yet._

_- it's been a while since I watched NCIS so the characterizations need some work._

_- sorry for the short chapters - but it means more frequent updates._

_- I'm not sure exactly where this fits in the Avengers timeline - after the Battle of New York, but probably before Iron Man 3. Definitely before Tony has the arc reactor removed from his chest. And they all know that Coulson's alive, so probably A.U._

_- Normally I ship Clintasha, but for this fic, a different pairing seems appropriate._

* * *

><p>Ziva followed her colleagues as Agent Coulson led them through a maze of passageways. It would be very easy to get lost in a place like this, but Ziva had almost subconsciously noted the route, and had no doubt that even blindfolded, she could navigate her way back to the deck.<p>

Finally, they emerged into a light, airy space that felt very out-of-place on an aircraft carrier. Except that, of course, it was no ordinary aircraft carrier. Ziva knew that the entire vessel was now airborne, and a few months ago, she might have been astounded. But since the events in New York City last summer, she found it much easier to believe the fantastical.

At this point, only her finely honed reflexes prevented her from bumping into DiNozzo, who had stopped dead. Stepping to one side, Ziva saw the reason. Tony was gazing at an admittedly attractive woman seated at the conference table in front of them. Red hair, and expressive grey eyes set in a pale, pointed face would have been more than enough to captivate her partner, but Ziva had no doubt that Tony's attention was riveted by the skin tight cat suit the woman was wearing, or more accurately, poured into! And with a figure like that, the outfit could almost qualify as a weapon in its own right, guaranteed to distract and dazzle. And that was definitely what it was doing to Tony. Ziva poked him sharply in the back, and smirked to herself when he flinched and snapped out of it.

As the NCIS agents took the seats indicated to them, Ziva saw that Abby was similarly distracted, but in her case it was by the operations deck on a lower level, spread out before them. It was clear that Abby was going to spend a large part of this mission geeking out over the technology.

Ziva looked across the table, and reflected that SHIELD was an equal-opportunities provider of eye candy. The man opposite her was dressed unremarkably, in a red t-shirt and black jeans, but they served as a perfect foil for his physique. Muscles like that, Ziva knew, didn't just come from working out in a gym, but from actual use, in whatever his particular field might be. At this point, Coulson dropped a folder on the table, and Ziva jumped slightly, realizing that she had been as distracted as Tony and Abby had been moments earlier. Pulling herself together, she moved her gaze to the final man, seated to the right of the red-head.

He didn't quite fit in with the surroundings, somehow. Slightly rumpled, his long-sleeved shirt open at the throat, he met Ziva's scrutiny with gentle brown eyes, and an awkward half-nod of acknowledgment He had a faintly apologetic air, that made Ziva speculate that he might be here representing C.S.I.S. But there was no more time to size up her new colleagues. Coulson was making brief introductions.

"Agent Gibbs, team lead. Agents David and DiNozzo; and Specialist Sciuto," he reeled off, before naming his own team. "Agents Romanoff and Barton. Dr Banner." As the first two were named, it clicked into place. Ziva had seen their faces in some of the raw footage from the Battle of New York. Banner, though - she didn't recall having seen his face. A technical advisor then? Probably S.H.I.E.L.D.'s counterpart to Abby. Ziva looked back at Coulson, and saw his expression stiffen almost imperceptibly, before he said, "I'm afraid Mr Stark was delayed, but he'll be joining us shortly."

"Anthony Stark? Iron Man?" Abby sounded awed, and Ziva saw slight exasperation cloud Coulson's features, as of one long grown tired of dealing with Stark fangirls. He nodded. "I can't believe he's going to be here," Abby gushed. "He's bringing J.A.R.V.I.S., isn't he?" She sounded anxious.

Coulson raised an eyebrow fractionally. "J.A.R.V.I.S.? Well - he's not exactly going to be here..."

"Oh, I know he's not _really_ a person," Abby said, "but I've read every article about him I could find, he's the most advanced AI in existence. I was working on my own AI, back in high school, it started out as a ninth grade science fair project, but I could never quite get the..."

"Abbs..." Gibbs quietly cut off Abby's flow of excited chatter, and she smiled apologetically. "Sorry Gibbs! But really - J.A.R.V.I.S.!" She subsided, her expression one of suppressed glee.

After a moment of silence, Coulson opened the folder in front of him. "Well then - let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3

Folders had been handed to each of the agents when they entered the room, and as Ziva opened hers, Gibbs said, "This started out as an NCIS case. A shipment of weapons was discovered on a Naval vessel, heading for Norfolk, Virginia. A crewman was arrested and questioned, and the weapons were examined. Turns out they were old Stark Industries weapons – mainly guns and grenade launchers." He glanced at Coulson, who took up the narrative.

"Stark Industries stopped making weapons some years ago, but old shipments still show up occasionally, in the hands of insurgents and terrorist cells. The fact that they were being smuggled back into the United States was unusual, but not exceptional, until the weapons started setting off radiation alarms. They sporadically emit an unusual gamma radiation signature – which is why we've called in Dr Banner, that's his field of expertise."

Ziva glanced across at Banner, and saw him shift in his seat, as if he were somehow uncomfortable with this fact, but he said, "I'm still analysing the data, but so far there's no indication as to why the gamma signal isn't continuous. The weapons appear to have been modified - we'll know more about that once Stark gets here."

"Is the crewman talking?" DiNozzo asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope. He hanged himself in his cell two nights ago. When we tried to contact his family, we discovered that the woman listed as his mother is ninety-six and living in a nursing home. Turns out her only child – who shared the crewman's name - died at the age of three weeks. We're still working on uncovering his real identity." Ziva shrugged to herself. It was an old trick, adopting the identity of a long-dead child as a cover.

The conference continued for a few minutes, mainly discussing the details of the shipment, but was interrupted by the arrival of the missing member of the team. As Tony Stark threw his leather jacket over the back of an empty chair, and placed a laptop on the table, Ziva noticed the blue glow from beneath his shirt. That must be the infamous reactor that was implanted in his chest.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Certainly not the chance to make an entrance," Ziva heard Romanoff murmur. Barton exchanged a look with the red-haired woman and grinned, and Ziva was sure that Coulson was stifling a smirk. There were some interesting dynamics going on in the SHIELD team!

"We were just going over the shipment inventory document," Coulson told him, and Stark said, "Yeah, most of the weapons are more than fifteen years old, Stark Industries stopped making them even before we got out of the arms business." He opened the laptop, and hit a couple of buttons, and an image of a hand gun was projected on a clear screen at the foot of the table. A couple of clicks and the image zoomed in. "It's been modified to take a slightly different ammo round. Plus, of course, the insert into the stock – that's the source of the gamma signature."

Stark turned to Coulson. "Did you get my care package?" he asked.

Coulson nodded. "The equipment you sent is in the lab. We left it for you to set up."

"Good." As Stark headed back towards the elevator, Banner got up and caught Abby's eye. "Ms. Sciuto...?" Abby leapt to her feet, and at the name, Stark turned back, looking interested. "Abigail Sciuto? I read your paper on A.I.s – the science fair project. It had some fundamental errors, but it was still pretty remarkable for a fourteen year old."

"You read that?" Abby was almost squeaking with delight. As she and Stark entered the elevator, followed by Dr Banner, and the doors closed, Ziva could hear her launching into a technical discussion.

Coulson spoke up. "Well, that's our technical team. The rest of us are going to be tracing the origin of the shipment, bringing in the perpetrators and cleaning up whatever else we find there." He glanced at the three remaining NCIS agents. "You've been assigned quarters on the helicarrier, we're anticipating you'll be here for a few days at least." As they all began to get up, and Ziva reached for her go-bag, Coulson added, "Feel free to use the training facilities while you're here. Things may be a little slow until we know where we're headed."


	4. Chapter 4

Tim McGee stood at the foot of the building and looked up. It had been repaired very quickly; but then, when you were a billionaire you could pull a few strings, especially if you had saved Manhattan from being nuked! McGee's gaze moved a little higher, above the pinnacle of Stark Tower, to the spot where the invasion had come through. Even after seeing the footage of the attack, he still sometimes had trouble accepting it on a gut level. Standing here, right where those monstrous **_things_** had emerged, and seeing the evidence of damage that was still visible in the surrounding areas, he felt a little more convinced.

But he didn't have time to stand here gawking. He'd been sent here to act as liaison between the rest of his team, and the R & D division housed at the top of Stark Tower. It made sense, he thought as he walked towards the entrance. Who better to analyse how the smuggled weapons had been modified than the company that had manufactured them. He was looking forward to seeing the facilities; it was just a shame that he wouldn't meet Stark in person.

* * *

><p>Abby had managed to rein in her excitement. It was <em>incredibly<em> cool that she had the chance to work with the Avengers – well, some of them, anyway – but there was a job to do, and this was probably the only chance she'd get to work in a lab this advanced. As Stark began setting up the equipment he'd sent ahead, with Dr Banner's help, Abby set to work on her own tasks, but was quickly interrupted by a beep from the comm-link built into her workstation. She beamed at the familiar face that appeared on the screen, and exclaimed, "McGee, you should see it here!" at precisely the same moment as Tim said, "Abby, you should see it here!" They exchanged grins, and McGee said, "Seriously, ten floors of R & D - it's like your wildest fantasies come true."

"I bet it's not any wilder than an aircraft carrier that flies!" Abby told him. "Have you talked to J.A.R.V.I.S. yet?"

Before McGee could reply, Stark looked up from the display screen he was studying. "Right, you wanted to meet J.A.R.V.I.S..." He walked over and keyed in a command at Abby's workstation, then said, "Hey J.A.R.V.I.S., meet your new playmate, Abby Sciuto."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Ms. Sciuto. How may I help you this afternoon?" Abby grinned delightedly at the sound of the crisp, British-accented voice. "Pleased to meet you too, J.A.R.V.I.S. - I talk to my computers all the time, but none of them actually answer me..."

"Abby?" McGee broke into what sounded as if it was going to turn into an off-topic conversation. "I'm sending you the original manufacturing specs on all the weapons in the shipment. Can you run analysis of how they've been modified?"

"Sure, I'm getting on it right now," Abby told him. "J.A.R.V.I.S., you wanna help me?"

"My pleasure."

As Abby got to work Tony Stark grinned and went back to his display screen.

* * *

><p>Ziva pushed open the door to the gym. At this point in the case, she didn't have a whole lot to do, so she figured she'd use her time to work out. At first she thought she was alone, then she spotted Barton on the far side of the room, working with free weights. Tempting as it was to stop and watch him, it was hardly good gym etiquette, so she headed over to a mat to stretch.<p>

She was about halfway through her workout, when Barton walked past her, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. She frowned slightly, wondering why he'd need them during a workout, and he caught her quizzical glance. He grinned. "There's a shooting range attached to the gym," he explained. He seemed about to keep going, then stopped again. "You want to come and watch?"

Ziva stepped off the treadmill and followed him through a door at the side of the gym, emerging into a long narrow room, with targets at one end. Ziva took up a spot in a corner, and watched as Barton practiced. After a few minutes, he turned to Ziva, and said, "Want to try?" Ziva started slightly; she'd been somewhat distracted admiring the play of muscles in his arms. Then she nodded, and took the bow from him, allowing him to demonstrate the correct grip and posture for her.

A few minutes later, DiNozzo wandered into the gym, and looked around. He'd expected Ziva to be here, but it looked like she'd left – although her towel and water bottle were still standing by a treadmill. At one side of the room, was a door, and he went over to investigate. Looking through the window in the top half of the door, he could see Ziva with Barton, in what looked, to DiNozzo, to be a very compromising position.

It took him a moment to realise that Ziva was attempting to draw a bow, and Barton was standing behind her, guiding her hands. He couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but they seemed to be chatting, occasionally laughing at whatever they were talking about. As he watched, Barton corrected Ziva's posture, one hand moving to her waist, the other resting between her shoulder blades. Then he nodded, and Ziva released the arrow. Barton made a 'not bad' gesture with his head, and Ziva reached for another arrow, but Barton shook his head, glancing at his watch. He said something to Ziva and she nodded, as he took the bow and the quiver and began to turn towards the door.

DiNozzo scurried to the nearest machine, and began to fiddle with the weights as the other man walked through the gym. Ziva followed, and headed for the treadmill, and Tony straightened up. "Archery lesson?" he queried, his tone a little sharper than he'd intended.

Ziva turned back to him. "Tony, were you _spying_ on us?" she asked.

"Should I be?" DiNozzo snapped back. He walked over to her. "Ziva, didn't you win a Mossad archery competition?" he queried, his tone implying that he knew very well that she had.

Ziva's lips twitched. "What's your point?" she asked.

"Well – but you – you were letting him give you a lesson!" DiNozzo pointed out; it sounded a bit lame even to his own ears.

Ziva smiled. "It never hurts to pick up a few tips from an expert," she said mildly, as she picked up her towel and bottle, then turned and walked towards the weights.

After a moment, DiNozzo shrugged to himself, and stepped onto the treadmill, turning it on without bothering to check the settings, with the result that he stumbled slightly as it started at a high speed. He quickly switched to a more reasonable setting, and began to jog; but he could have sworn that he heard a soft chuckle from the other end of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

DiNozzo joined the line in the mess hall, and looked ahead to see what was on offer, It looked as if SHIELD provided pretty good food. As he was collecting his meal, he noticed Agent Barton a couple of places ahead of him in line. DiNozzo frowned slightly. It wasn't that he wanted to spoil anything for Ziva... not really. It was just that he had a feeling she was exactly the type of person SHIELD liked to recruit, and if she already had something going on with one of their agents, she might be more inclined to accept, should SHIELD try to poach her from NCIS. Besides, they needed to focus on the mission. That was what he was telling himself, anyway, as he made up his mind to talk to Barton.

He collected his meal, stepped away from the line, and looked around. Barton was at a table by himself, and DiNozzo decided that this would be a good time to deal with things. He made his way over there, and said, "Mind if I join you?"

Barton shrugged. "Go ahead."

DiNozzo sat down, and noticed the food Barton was wolfing down; steak, vegetables and brown rice, plus some fresh fruit. It looked good – though he wouldn't have asked for steak quite that rare – and also very healthy, despite the speed at which he was eating. DiNozzo had heard of people inhaling their food, but he'd never seen it demonstrated quite so thoroughly. He glanced at his own cheeseburger and fries, and suddenly felt very unhealthy, though normally he prided himself on being fit and in good shape. He regretted nothing, he told himself, especially not that piece of pecan pie that awaited him for dessert; it had been the last piece and he'd felt a little twinge of victory as he claimed it. As he started to eat his meal, he remarked, "This is quite the setup you've got at SHIELD."

Barton nodded. "Yeah. We got good people too."

DiNozzo saw his opening. "NCIS has good people too... like Ziva." Barton glanced up at him – was that the ghost of a smirk, DiNozzo wondered. But he ploughed on. "She's got a great background. Ex-Mossad, served her time in the Israeli army. So she's a very valuable member of the NCIS team." Barton looked at him steadily, his expression quizzical. Starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, DiNozzo decided to cut to the point. "I saw the two of you, uh, talking earlier. I hope you weren't trying to recruit her..."

Barton shrugged again. "Not up to me," he said casually. As he cut another piece off his steak, DiNozzo was certain that he was amused by the conversation. But he felt he was too far in to turn back. "It looked like you were giving her an archery lesson, but she's actually an accomplished archer!" he blurted.

Barton was definitely smirking now, as he chewed the steak. He swallowed and said, "Yeah. I know!"

DiNozzo blinked. "She told you?"

"Nah, I could tell. Does this conversation have a point?" His bluntness floored DiNozzo for a moment, and while he was floundering for a response, Barton finished his steak, and started on the fruit. Finally, DiNozzo said, "Ziva can be very secretive. I just though you should... know where you stand." He was starting to feel foolish now.

Barton had finished his fruit, and as he piled his dishes back on his tray, he was grinning. "I'll keep that in mind," he said as he stood up. "Thanks for your concern." He started to walk away from the table, then checked and said, "Are you gonna eat that?" Without waiting for an answer, he scooped up the piece of pecan pie and walked away, munching.

Alone at the table, DiNozzo finished his cheeseburger rather sadly.

* * *

><p>Heading along a hallway towards the armoury, Clint chuckled. Unless he was mistaken, DiNozzo had more than a professional interest in his partner, and was jealous of the 'lesson' he'd witnessed. But as far as he was concerned, Ziva was at liberty to fraternize with whomever she chose.<p>

Arriving at the armoury, he heard voices, and opened the door to find Ziva and Natasha, apparently bonding over sidearms. Ziva was examining a SHIELD gun, and Natasha was pointing out unique features. He nodded a greeting, and went to make a quick check on his own precious weapons – putting his bow to bed, as Tasha had once referred to it. As he worked, he was aware of the two women talking, then he heard Ziva say quietly, in Hebrew, _"I envy you the scenery at SHIELD._" He looked up, confused, just in time to see Ziva look away quickly, and exchange a smirk with Natasha. The redhead's lips twitched slightly, then she replied, in the same language, _"You should see the view from behind!" _She met Clint's startled gaze, and raised an eyebrow.

Clint didn't know if Ziva realized he understood Hebrew, but Natasha certainly did! And there was no doubt they were talking about him. Clint generally enjoyed the effect that his physique had on women, but to hear them discussing him so calmly like that, was a little... disconcerting. He briefly considered backing out of the room, but it would have looked stupid. He snapped his weapons case shut, and turned for the door. As he reached it, he distinctly heard Ziva say, _"Yes, I see what you mean."_ Natasha's chuckle was cut off as the door closed behind him.

He headed back along the corridor, feeling a bit foolish at first. But it confirmed that Ziva was attracted to him – a feeling that was definitely mutual. Grinning to himself, he decided to take a quick shower, before seeing what the rest of the evening might hold.

Some time later, he strolled along another corridor, and halted outside one of the rooms. He hesitated only a fraction before raising his hand and knocking on the door. After a few moments, Ziva answered the knock. She met Clint's gaze and after only a tiny pause she smiled, and stepped back to allow him in.

As the door closed behind them, Natasha stood motionless by the corner of the corridor. Ziva had left her metal water bottle in the armoury, and Natasha had intended to return it on her way to her own quarters, but it seemed that the other woman was otherwise occupied. Natasha's face was expressionless as she continued to her quarters.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce Banner took off his glasses and rubbed his face tiredly. He'd been investigating these weapons for hours, and although he'd made progress, the results just didn't add up. He'd identified the nature of the radiation, but he couldn't figure out what it was intended to achieve. He looked over at Stark, who was still tinkering with one of the guns. "How's it looking?" he asked.

Stark looked up. "Not all of the weapons have been modified – just these..." He indicated half a dozen large calibre handguns, picking one up and taking it over to Bruce. "See this button in the grip – when it's pressed, it sends a small radiation pulse to two contact points in the magazine."

He showed Bruce the magazine that he'd removed from the gun, and said, "It only takes a single round. And the really weird thing... after you press the button, it activates a timer that renders the gun useless for an hour. You can't even pull the trigger until the timer runs out."

Bruce took the magazine and examined it. "What kind of ammunition does it take?"

Tony shrugged. "We didn't find any in the shipment that would fit the magazine. It must be something specialized, but the guns don't give any clue. With the way they're modified, I'm guessing it's not something we want being smuggled into the country." He glanced at the screens at Bruce's workstation. "Any luck with tracing where they came from?"

Bruce nodded. "I'm using the same setup we used to find the tesseract – I just had to recalibrate the sensors and the scan is already running."

"Any hits yet?"

Bruce shrugged. "A few. The NCIS agent in New York has been following up, but so far there's been nothing significant."

Tony nodded, then turned to look over at Abby's work area. "Abby, you want to go grab some food with us?" he asked. He was enjoying working with the NCIS analyst, and was finding her eccentric enough that he was seriously considering offering her a job at Stark Industries.

Abby looked up from her screen, where she'd been having an animated conversation with JARVIS. "Sure, just give me a moment." She quickly went through the usual security protocols to lock her workstation, then got up and joined Bruce and Tony as they headed to the mess hall.

* * *

><p>Tim McGee closed down his computers and got up from the desk, stretching. He had to admit, this case wasn't turning out as interesting as he'd hoped. The glimpses he'd had of R&amp;D had been intriguing but he'd spent most of his time following up on possible hits from the tracking program running on the helicarrier. So far none of them had worked out. At least if he'd actually been on the helicarrier, he'd have been able to talk to some of the SHIELD agents who'd been involved in the Battle of New York. As it was, he'd only had contact with Stark Industries employees.<p>

He sighed and went to the elevator. At least he'd been given accommodation in the building, though for the most part it felt like being in a hotel – albeit a luxurious and technologically advanced hotel. The elevator doors opened, and he put his security card in the slot and waited. Nothing happened; the doors didn't even close. He tried again a couple of times, and sighed. Seriously? He was at one of the most advanced companies in the world, and the elevator card didn't work? He was about to go and find someone to check his card, when the doors suddenly closed. His relief was short-lived, however, as the elevator started going up. Tim knew he wasn't cleared to go to the highest floors. A few moments later, the elevator stopped on the penthouse floor, and the doors opened.

Tim was torn; he knew he shouldn't be here, but now that he was, he was very tempted to take a quick look. He'd heard that although most of the damage to the building had been repaired, one particular area had been left untouched; and the chance to see for himself the dent in the floor where a god from another dimension had been pounded into submission, was really too good to pass up.

He stepped out of the elevator and looked around. The place seemed empty, though with a penthouse suite this size, he really didn't have any way of knowing for sure. Tim looked around, feeling uncomfortable, and had almost decided to give it up and stop snooping when he saw it. An area of marble flooring was cracked, and in the centre of the cracks was a gouge, shaped like a man. He walked towards it, and looked down at it, awed. After a few minutes reflecting on what it represented, he nodded slightly, and told himself he really should get out of here. At the very least, he was invading Stark's privacy. But before he could even turn away, a voice made him jump.

"How did you get up here?"

Tim turned to find himself confronted by a beautiful, slender strawberry blonde, who definitely looked as if she wasn't one to be trifled with. "Sorry – I know I shouldn't be here. There's something wrong with my elevator card, it brought me up here and..." He hesitated before going on. But it was better to be recognized for the geek he was, than suspected of being a security threat. "I couldn't resist taking a look at it." He gestured towards the hole in the floor. "Everyone's heard about it, how the Hulk used Loki like a rag doll. It was just – too good to miss."

After a moment, the woman's expression softened, and she extended her hand. "I'm Pepper Potts. Did the famous dent live up to your expectations?"

Tim shook her hand, and said, "Agent McGee, NCIS. Yeah – I have to say it's pretty... cool." He winced inwardly, knowing he sounded like such a geek.

Pepper nodded, smiling. "We thought it would make a good monument." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Have you had dinner yet, Agent McGee?"

Tim was a bit startled, but he said, "No ma'am."

Pepper gestured towards the elevator. "Then after we stop at security to get you a new card, perhaps you'd be my guest this evening. We have an excellent staff restaurant on the second floor."

Tim nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

Pepper smiled again. "Oh please, call me Pepper. And I'm sure you have a first name – besides 'agent'!" Nothing about her expression gave away the fact that this was actually a private joke.

"Tim," he told her, following as he she walked towards the elevator. He was feeling a little less resentful at having been sent to New York when the rest of the team were on the helicarrier. He had a feeling that Pepper would have some very interesting anecdotes to tell about life with Tony Stark.


	7. Chapter 7

DiNozzo was still half-asleep as he walked through the locker room towards the showers. Last night had been very dull; Gibbs off with SHIELD brass, Abby closeted in the lab, and Ziva... he wasn't sure where Ziva had gotten to, but he hadn't seen her since she left the gym. He'd ended up in a rec room, being miserably humiliated by pool players much better than he was. He'd been impressed, though, that despite being airborne, the helicarrier moved smoothly enough that the pool balls weren't disturbed at all.

Turning a corner to walk between two rows of lockers, he spotted Barton, towel wrapped around his hips, opening a locker. He gave the agent a brief nod, and passed by, but glanced back in surprise when the livid red weals on Barton's back caught his eye. He tried not to stare at them, but they looked remarkably like scratches inflicted by a human hand. Involuntarily, DiNozzo recalled that archery 'lesson' he'd witnessed, and found himself speculating that it was connected to Barton's scratched back. He shook his head slightly; just because Ziva had let the man show her how to draw a bow (even though she knew damn well how to do it already), didn't mean that anything else had happened. Did it?

DiNozzo found an empty shower stall, hung up his towel and stepped in, turning on the water. As he washed his hair, he told himself sternly that he was jumping to conclusions. The two things were not connected. He repeated this to himself as he finished his shower, got dressed and headed to the mess hall for some breakfast.

This morning, having virtuously selected the healthiest food options he could find, DiNozzo spotted Ziva already eating. The fact that she was alone raised DiNozzo's spirits. Surely, if she and Barton had continued their 'conversation' after she left the gym, they'd be eating breakfast together? He went over to her table, and set his tray down.

Ziva looked up. "Morning, Tony," she said, stifling a yawn.

"Late night?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Ziva shrugged. "Not especially."

She finished her grapefruit, and reached for her coffee cup. The movement caused her sleeve to slip back, and DiNozzo frowned. Ziva's wrist was reddened, as if she'd scraped it on something. It looked somewhat raw, and DiNozzo nodded towards it and said, "Nasty scrape you've got there."

Ziva looked at it and DiNozzo could have sworn that the ghost of a smile touched her lips. But all she said was, "Must have caught it on something. During my workout." DiNozzo spooned up some oatmeal, trying to accept her explanation at face value. But he found he couldn't help glancing at her other wrist. There it was, an identical abrasion. As if something had rubbed repeatedly against it. It looked like...

"Ziva, are those rope burns?"

This time there was a definite smirk, but as she continued to sip her coffee, all she said was, "Really, Tony, how would I have gotten rope burns?" Her tone sounded so calm and reasonable that he almost believed her. Would have believed her, had he not seen those nail marks on Barton's back. The conclusion was inescapable, as far as he was concerned. "I saw Barton in the locker room - he had some impressive scratches on his back. I hope you two didn't keep the neighbours awake too late!"  
>The faintly amused expression vanished from Ziva's face. "Remind me how this is any of your business, Tony."<p>

"You're not exactly keeping your mind on the case, are you?"

Ziva got up. "When we have something to do, my mind will be on it one hundred percent. Until then, stay out of it!" Ziva turned and didn't exactly storm out, but there was no doubt that she was annoyed.

As he watched her leave, DiNozzo realised that Agent Romanoff was sitting at the next table, her expression stony. DiNozzo nodded a greeting, feeling awkward, and was about to speak, but the SHIELD agent got up and walked out without a word.

Sighing, DiNozzo finished his breakfast. At lunchtime, he decided, he'd eat alone!

* * *

><p>Abby stared at the screen, an expression of satisfaction on her face. "McGee's got a fix on where those weapons came from," she said. She looked up at Gibbs, who had arrived at her side moments before. As usual, he'd appeared, unbidden, just when she had something to tell him. "See, it's a little island..." she pointed at the screen, where a map of South America was displayed, and indicated the area down at the tip of the continent. "Right in there." She picked up the oversize coffee mug at her elbow, and drained it. She was missing her regular infusions of Caf-Pow, but part of Stark's 'care package' had included a state of the art coffee machine, and Abby had already put it to extensive use.<p>

Gibbs nodded. "Who are they?"

Through the comm link, McGee heard the question, and replied, "Boss, it's a cult."

"A cult? Religious?" Gibbs queried.

"Not exactly," McGee told him. "The best description would be 'apocalyptic'. They call themselves the Dawn of the Fourth Age. I've been looking at their website, it's all very vague, lots of talk about 'global cleansing' and 'preparing the way for the new people'. Pretty standard doomsday stuff, but they don't reference any specific religion."

"What's the background?"

"They started up about ten years ago, based in Portland, Oregon. The leader is..." McGee paused, and a photo appeared on the video link, showing a man in his fifties. "William Heberden. He was a Naval doctor, dishonourably discharged and had his medical license revoked for unethical behaviour. He and his followers moved to South America about eight years ago, to set up a society where they could 'escape the corruption and degeneration of the modern world'."

Gibbs managed to convey eye-rolling without actually rolling his eyes. "And what are they doing smuggling guns?"

"Not sure yet. From what Abby's told me, we won't know that until we know what's so special about the mystery ammunition."

Gibbs nodded. "I think it's time to find out."

* * *

><p>As he headed for the conference room, in answer to the summons that had gone out a couple of minutes ago, Clint found himself sharing the elevator with Natasha, and he sensed the tension in her the moment he saw her. Before he could ask what was bothering her, she said, "Tell Agent David she left her water bottle in the armoury yesterday. I would have returned it to her but she had company last night." The elevator opened and Clint sighed to himself as they headed over to the table where Gibbs and Coulson were already waiting.<p>

It was obvious that Natasha knew that he'd spent the night with Ziva. He tried to be discrete about his hookups, knowing how Nat felt about him, but she usually found out anyway. The casual observer would have concluded that it didn't bother her, and indeed she never let it affect her work, but Clint knew her too well. She concealed it, but he knew she was hurt. Not for the first time, he wished he could have fallen for her, that he could love her in the way he knew she loved him. She was his closest friend, he'd trust her with his life, and he knew that if it came to it, he would be prepared to die to save her. But it wasn't the same, and to pretend otherwise, to pretend that he shared the different, passionate love that she felt for him, would only hurt her more in the long run.

Well, it looked as if the mission was about to move into its active phase, and once it was over, NCIS would depart. Not that he regretted sleeping with Ziva – even though his back was still sore – but once she'd left, he and Nat could get back to normal.

By now, the other members of the team had arrived, and Clint put the matter out of his mind, as Gibbs and Coulson began to brief them on the latest developments.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

DiNozzo checked his weapons, and ran his fingers round the neck of his jacket. He felt a bit self-conscious in the borrowed S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. Ziva, on the other hand, looked every inch the part, which made DiNozzo less than happy. By now he knew that he would be very surprised if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't make her a job offer by the time this case was over. And with the resources available, and the scope of the work she'd have the chance to do, he couldn't imagine that she would refuse.

DiNozzo finished his weapons check, then looked back at her. She was standing on the other side of the hangar bay, near one of the quinjets, checking her own gun, and Barton was leaning against the nearby wall, with his bow slung across his body, talking to her. Mercifully, they weren't indulging in any sort of public display of affection.

Gibbs walked into the hangar bay, accompanied by Agent Romanoff. DiNozzo saw her glance at the two teams assembled there, her gaze resting a little longer on Ziva and Barton, but her expression remained impassive. Gibbs, looked around, checking that everyone was present, then said, "Let's get on with it." He headed for one of the quinjets, along with Ziva, Romanoff, and two additional S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and DiNozzo saw Barton briefly touch Ziva's shoulder before leading his own team into the second quinjet. Barton took the flight controls, with Agent Motolinia in the right seat, while DiNozzo joined two more S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, Agents Torbio and Macauley, in the back.

Analysis of satellite images taken of the cult's compound had given them two probable locations for ammunition stocks, so two teams were going in. Gibbs's team was approaching from the south, using the cover of hills, with about a mile to cover after they landed. The other team – the one DiNozzo was on – would land north west of the compound, with a wooded area giving cover. It was about twice the distance, but the ground was flatter, and their cover extended much closer to the perimeter fence. According to the briefing that Coulson had given them, the purpose of the mission was to get in quietly, locate samples of the mystery ammunition, and get out again, preferably without engaging the cult's defences. The satellite imagery had indicated watch towers and possible patrols, but it was difficult to know how much actual resistance would be offered. The two teams were to maintain radio silence as far as possible, so there would be no contact between them unless absolutely necessary.

The flight to the landing site was uneventful. They were flying under cover of darkness, and as Barton explained to him during the flight, the quinjets they were using were equipped with the latest stealth technology. Even so, when DiNozzo stepped out of the aircraft and looked around, he felt he would have been a lot more comfortable with denser tree cover.

The team started off towards the compound, following Barton as he moved with seemingly effortless silence through the under brush. When they finally emerged at the edge of the woods, within sight of the fence, the compound was quiet, with no signs that their presence had been detected. DiNozzo saw that Barton had his bow ready in his right hand; his role would now be primarily to provide cover for the rest of the team, as they broke into the warehouse at the north west corner and then searched for the ammunition. DiNozzo had initially felt some misgivings, wondering if it would be better for Barton to be armed with a gun, but on learning of this part of the plan, the three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had looked relieved, so DiNozzo hadn't voiced his concerns. They clearly had confidence in their team leader's abilities.

They reached the wire, and Motolinia cut a way in. To DiNozzo, the sound of the wire cutters seemed unnaturally loud, but no alarms went off, and no-one came running. Breaking into the warehouse went equally smoothly, and he was torn between relief, and wondering if perhaps it had been _**too**_easy to get in. Looking around, however, he knew that the hard part was still ahead of them. They were in an armoury, so at least that part of the plan had worked out, but it was extensive. Torbio and Macauley were the specialists here, selected for their knowledge of weaponry, and their ability to identify exactly what they were looking for, but even so, finding the modified ammunition for one specific weapon would take a while.

The search progressed, working methodically along the racks of guns and shelves of ammunition. It took almost an hour before Torbio signalled to Barton, indicating a rack of guns. "Those are the ones," he said softly. He checked the closest shelves, picking the lock on a storage container, and took out a metal case, about six inches by nine inches, with rounded, reinforced corners. Another few moments of work had that lock picked, and when he opened the case, it revealed six bullets, each cradled in a moulded recess. When closed, the case held each bullet separate and secure. DiNozzo frowned; it seemed like a lot of protection. Clearly, there was some reason for the rounds to be so carefully packaged. He took the case and closed the lid, and was slipping it into the pouch strapped to his side, when the warehouse was suddenly flooded with bright light, and sirens began to screech. DiNozzo heard Barton's radio crackle, and Gibbs's voice said, "We've been spotted. They know we're here."

"Yeah, no shit," Barton muttered, and thumbed the switch on the radio to say, "We have the payload. Moving out now."

Trying to ignore the disorienting scream of the sirens, DiNozzo followed the team out of the warehouse, and back towards the wire. He could hear the repeated crack of gunfire, and a bullet smacked into the earth at his feet, making him sidestep. He pushed through the gap in the wire, and turned to look back, seeing two men in a watchtower some two hundred yards away. Another bullet whined close by, then one of the guards slumped over the wall of the tower. As DiNozzo watched, the second guard stiffened, silhouetted against the light as an arrow shaft took him in the chest.

"Go, _**go!**_" he heard Barton snarl, so he ran, hearing the other agents close behind him. He had just reached the trees when he heard a fizzing crackle. Someone gasped, "Man down!" and DiNozzo would have turned back to help, but Motolinia shoved him onwards. "You have the payload. That's your priority. Get back to the quinjet."

DiNozzo's lungs were burning by the time he reached the aircraft. He staggered up the ramp and sagged against a bulkhead. Motolinia brushed past him and made for the flight controls as Gibbs's voice issued from the radio. "Team two – report!". Motolinia slid into the left seat, his hands already moving across the controls to start up the quinjet. As the engines came to life, he keyed the radio and said, "Barton is down."

"What's his status?" Gibbs snapped.

"Unknown. We were taking heavy fire, we had to leave. We have the payload safe."

DiNozzo hauled the case out of his pouch and pushed it into Macauley's hand, then turned towards the rear hatch. "I'm going back," he said over his shoulder, but a split second later there was a violent explosion close by, and the quinjet shuddered.

"R.P.G.," yelled Motolinia. "Almost on top of us, we have to go _**now!**_" The rear hatch hissed shut and DiNozzo felt the aircraft lurch slightly as it took off. Moments later there was another explosion that felt like it was right underneath them.

"You're leaving him?" DiNozzo yelled.

"That last one hit right where we were just sitting," Motolinia shouted. "My orders are to get that package back to the helicarrier no matter what." After a moment, he added in a calmer voice, "Barton's the best. He can take care of himself."

DiNozzo stared at him for a moment, then sank into the right seat. It made sense, and in any case there was nothing he could do to turn them back.

But that still didn't make it feel right.


	9. Chapter 9

Clint groaned as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. His face was pressed against something hard and damp, and he made an effort, finally rolling over onto his back. This was only a slight improvement, as the pressure was now on the lump that throbbed on the back of his skull. He sat up, easing the stiffness he felt in his shoulders, and looked around. He was in a small, dim cell. What light there was, filtered though a narrow window slot above the door, and reflected on the moisture that glistened on the walls.

He sat for a moment, taking stock of his physical condition. Nothing seemed to be badly damaged, though he had scrapes on his arms and face that suggested he might have been dragged from the woods. He raised a hand to his left shoulder to examine a wound. It was small, and the edges were ragged and still damp; no healing, which told him that not much time had elapsed. He remembered feeling something pierce his shoulder, then his entire body had gone into spasm; he'd realized at the time that he'd been tased. There had been no-one close enough to have reached him with a wired taser, so maybe it had been some kind of modified projectile, designed to pierce the skin with a barbed point – his captors had probably just yanked it out, causing the tearing around the wound – and then deliver the electric pulse. While he'd been struggling futilely to regain control of his body, pain had exploded at the back of his head, and now he was waking up here. Well, presumably they wanted him alive for some reason, or they would have just put a bullet in his head while he was incapacitated, instead of hitting him with something – a baseball bat, by the size of the swelling!

Clint got up and went over to the door, grabbing the edges of the window slit and pulling himself up to look out. All he could see was the wall opposite, and a limited view of a dimly lit corridor. He dropped back to the floor and made a thorough examination of his cell. It didn't take long; it was just a bare room, not even furnished with a blanket or a mattress. He couldn't find any loose bricks or anything else that might have furnished him with a makeshift weapon, and he'd obviously been searched while he was unconscious – the various knives and other 'toys' he habitually carried were all gone.

He shrugged and sat down in a corner, running over potential scenarios in his mind. This was far from being the worst situation he'd found himself in. He'd have to wait until someone came along and opened the cell door, but then he could deal with them and get out of here.

* * *

><p>Abby carried the box of ammunition into the lab and set it down at her workstation, then she sat down and took one of the bullets out. She didn't recognize the type at all – it looked like a custom design. Stark and Banner came to stand on either side of her, and Stark said, "There - " He indicated a dull grey metal strip around the bullet, about a third of the way from the base. "Looks like that matches the contacts on the magazine." He leaned over and took the bullet from Abby, turning it in his fingers.<p>

Abby began to enter commands on the keyboard, and as she typed, she said, "J.A.R.V.I.S., can you do something for me?"

"For you, Abby, anything!"

Stark's mouth quirked up at one side. Was J.A.R.V.I.S. _flirting_ with Abby? Well, the personality algorithm was heavily based on his own, so flirting with a woman wouldn't exactly be a surprise but still – it was a bit... weird.

"I want to run a scan of this bullet, see what's inside it," Abby continued. "Can you do that? I mean, without taking it apart."

"Of course."

Stark took the bullet over to his own workstation. "I'll have J.A.R.V.I.S. send the results over to you," he said as he began to set up for the scan.

* * *

><p>As the results began to come up on Abby's screen, she frowned. "Show me a schematic," she requested. The diagram appeared, and she said, "That looks like... is that a liquid inside the bullet?"<p>

Bruce went to stand behind her, frowning. Suddenly he said, "You know, the helicarrier has a Level 4 containment lab..." Abby turned to look at him, her eyes widening slightly, and Bruce added, "Just in case. We don't know if that's a chemical nerve agent or what. We can seal a sample in a containment chamber and work with it using remote controls. Then if something nasty turns up, we can incinerate it, and the chamber can be taken to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility for disposal."

Abby nodded. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

* * *

><p>Gibbs was getting that feeling, almost like a mental itch, that he should check in with Abby. She'd been working on that ammunition for hours, she'd probably have some information by now. He arrived at the lab and noticed immediately that it seemed very quiet. When he'd been there before, there was a buzz of conversation as Abby and the two men exchanged ideas. Now the three of them were gathered around a video screen, watching silently as Abby remotely manipulated the remote controls. The tension on the room was almost tangible.<p>

"Abbs?" he said quietly, and she jumped slightly and turned to face him. He'd rarely seen her look this worried. "Everything okay?" he asked.

Abby shook her head. "No, Gibbs, it's bad. It's really, _**really**_ bad." She looked back at her array of screens, entering commands and watching as results appeared. When it seemed that she wasn't going to continue, Banner turned to Gibbs.

"Those bullets you guys brought back – they contain a biological warfare agent."

"How bad is it?"

Banner motioned Gibbs over to a table, and a hologrammatic representation of a cell appeared in mid-air. It was roughly spherical, with a spongy surface dotted with raised areas. "That's a Rhinovirus – it causes the common cold," he said. He used a hand gesture to enlarge the image, then pulled a new shape from within the outer shell. This one was more of an oval, with an inner structure shaped something like a dog bone. Within this, Gibbs could see several strands of what looked like tangled string. Banner separated the strands out.

"This," he said, turning the insubstantial oval cell in his hand, "is Variola major. Smallpox. And this one..." He reached out and picked up one of the tangled strings, "...that's Zaire ebolavirus. The Zaire strain has the highest mortality rate of the four known ebolavirus strains that can cause disease in humans." Banner's voice sounded tightly-controlled, as if he were forcing himself to speak in as dispassionate a manner as possible. He stared at the holograms for a moment, then went on. "The smallpox and ebola viruses are combined in a single structure, using recombinant DNA techniques. The rhinovirus is the vector, making it easily airborne and extremely infectious."

He put the virus holograms back in place, and glanced at Abby, who said in a shaken voice, "The way it's put together, I'd say the mortality rate would be around 95 percent."

Gibbs stared at the hologram for a time, as the full implications dawned on him. No-one was routinely vaccinated against smallpox anymore, and emergency stocks of the vaccine were limited. Even in people who had been vaccinated as children, their immunity would have decreased over the years until it was negligible. And ebola, the devastating hemorrhagic fever that was sometimes described as liquefying internal organs – there was simply no vaccine for that. A bioweapon like this would cause unimaginable devastation; released in major cities, it would kill millions. At last he said, "And these bullets are the delivery system?"

Stark said, "J.A.R.V.I.S..." and the virus holograms vanished, replaced by one of a bullet. "The viral agent is contained in a hollow chamber within the bullet. But it's inert – in that form it won't cause disease even if you drink it. That's where the radiation comes in. Once you load a bullet into the magazine and press the button, a radiation pulse is sent through the contacts on the bullet, and gets channeled into the viral chamber. That's the wake up call – it causes the virus to start reproducing. In an hour, there's enough live virus to cause mass infection."

He indicated a section near the base of the bullet. "There's an additional explosive charge. You fire it into the air, and a couple of seconds later the secondary charge fires." The hologram showed how the second charge split open the viral chamber, releasing the virus. "It gets aerosolized, and starts to spread."

Stark brought up a 3D map showing the projected dispersal pattern that would be seen with favorable weather conditions. "If you were to fire it upwind of an international airport – say, JFK - you'd end up with thousands of passengers who'd have no idea they'd been infected until they'd traveled all over the world. And by then it's too late. And that's it – game over. That's what those lunatics are talking about on their website. That's their 'global cleansing'."


	10. Chapter 10

Clint heard the sound of footsteps approaching his cell, and got to his feet, moving to stand so that he would be behind the door when it opened. He heard bolts being drawn and a key turning in the lock, but as he was tensing to attack the first person through the door, something rattled through the window slot. A small cylindrical object was thrown in, landing in the middle of the room. Clint's training kicked in instantly, but he only had time to start turning away and raise his hands towards his face before the stun grenade went off.

Even with closed eyes, the flash was dazzling. He could have still fought back despite that and the pain from the intense noise; but the concussion also disrupted the semicircular canals in his inner ears that controlled his balance. He staggered sideways, completely disoriented, and in the moments it took for his equilibrium to start returning to normal, he was grabbed, forced to the ground, and cuffed with his hands behind his back. He tried to kick at his captors, but they'd hobbled him too. They pulled him roughly to his feet, and he was forced to stumble between them as they dragged him out of the cell and along the corridor.

* * *

><p>The debriefing had started off tense, and gone downhill from there. Coulson had opened by confirming that Barton was missing, status unknown. His assurance that the agent had been in far worse situations and made it out in one piece had been received in silence. Ziva listened to this statement with misgivings – a few hours ago, she and Barton had been planning to repeat their late night rendezvous; now she didn't even know if he was still alive. Also, she had gotten the distinct impression that Romanoff was treating her very coldly; they still hadn't determined exactly how their team had triggered the compound's alarms, and Ziva wondered if the other woman had decided to blame her for the error, and therefore for Barton's status.<p>

Then the senior agent had moved on to the results of the analysis performed on the bullets, and the news that they were facing a biological weapon had everyone looking slightly sick. They were about to start planning how to deal with this latest development when one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the operations area ran up the stairs to the conference level and said, "Sir – we've received a video uplink request from the cult leader."

Coulson frowned. "He's getting in touch with us? How did he manage to contact the helicarrier?"

"Looks like it was via Barton's radio."

Coulson nodded. "Put it up on the screen."

A minute later, a face appeared on the glass screen at the head of the conference table. The man looked to be somewhere in his fifties, with cropped greying hair, and very pale, intent eyes set among hard, deeply lined features.

"William Heberden?" Coulson said, his expression grim.

Heberden nodded. "Indeed. To whom am I speaking?"

"You don't know?" Coulson's tone was almost mocking. Heberden shook his head.

"Your man is not very cooperative, despite our... promptings. Though we know his name, and that you're from S.H.I.E.L.D." Well, that did at least imply that Barton was still alive. Beside her, Ziva heard Romanoff exhale softly.

After a moment, Coulson said, "I'm Agent Coulson. I'm authorized to speak on behalf of S.H. .D."

"Well, Mr Coulson, it seems that the situation is very simple. You have something of mine. I have something of yours. If you return my property undamaged, I will return yours... mostly undamaged." Heberden nodded to someone off-camera, and the shot widened as Barton was pushed into view. He didn't look too bad, though there were some abrasions on one side of his face, and a minor split to his lower lip. He did, however, appear to be soaking wet, with his hair plastered flat against his skull and water glistening on his face. His expression was one of detached endurance.

Ziva glanced at Romanoff; her face was hard and angry.

Heberden said, "Do we have an understanding?"

"That depends." Coulson's tone was cautious. Ziva had a feeling that he wasn't assuming anything about the 'property' Heberden was referring to – he wasn't going to reveal anything unless Heberden mentioned it first. "What is it that you think we have?"

"During your raid, you removed a case containing six bullets. I want them back, intact. I assume that by now you know what they are, and understand exactly what we are capable of."

"Yes." Coulson was tense, still not revealing any more that he had to.

"My terms are as follows," Heberden went on. "You will meet with me to return my property. If this is done, then I will release your agent unharmed." He glanced at Barton, and added, "Well, no more harmed than he is right now. If, however, you deviate from my instructions, especially if you attempt a pre-emptive rescue, then the cost to you – and more specifically to Agent Barton – will be much higher." He moved closer to Barton, and gripped the back of his head, forcing it back slightly.

"Don't worry, I have no plans to kill him. That would be too... clean. You see, Barton killed two of my men. So far, I haven't factored them into the cost to you. But if you don't follow my instructions then I will insist on reparations." He raised a knife and pressed it to Barton's face, just below his left eye. "Yes, I think an eye in exchange for each man he killed would be sufficient..." The knife point broke skin, and a thin trickle of blood ran down Barton's cheek. "As I say, I won't kill him. But I doubt that a blind archer would be of much use to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Ziva heard Romanoff make a slight noise in her throat. The other woman was beyond pale, her face was a sickly greyish colour. Ziva had a sudden inkling that the coldness she'd been sensing from her wasn't because of any perceived failure during the raid; the resentment was more complicated – more personal. Ziva had unwittingly trespassed on her territory and Romanoff knew it. Then Romanoff turned her head slightly, and their glances met. After a moment, Ziva looked away. She hadn't realised. And Clint hadn't said anything. Shit!

Up on the video screen, Heberden had let go of Barton, and was speaking again. "I will transmit the coordinates for the meeting. You will be there in an hour." The screen suddenly went blank.

There was a brief silence. Then Coulson got up from his chair. "I need to consult with Director Fury in D.C.," he said, heading for the secure communications room.

The silence around the table continued, then Romanoff got up and headed past the elevators into the corridor beyond. After a moment, Ziva got up and followed her. When she judged they were out of earshot of the conference area, she called out, "Agent Romanoff!." Romanoff stopped, but didn't turn; Ziva could see the tension in her frame. She faltered for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry."

Romanoff turned to face Ziva, her expression wary. "For what?" she said.

This wasn't going to be easy, but Ziva persevered. "I didn't know... Clint didn't mention... he didn't tell me the the two of you were..." For a moment she thought that Romanoff was going to just walk away, but then she glanced down as she said tonelessly,

"No, he wouldn't. Because we're not – that is, he doesn't feel the same way I do. He never has." She looked back up, meeting Ziva's gaze once more. "We're good friends. For Clint, that's as far as it goes. And he... has his own life." There was a tiny, almost undetectable tremor in her voice, and Ziva realised that this couldn't be the first time that Romanoff had been forced to deal with knowing about other women in his life.

Ziva was silent, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't sound pitying, and she was damn sure that Romanoff didn't want her pity. Finally the other woman turned and continued on her way, and Ziva let her go. Retracing her own steps to the conference area, she reflected that this sort of complication was one of the reasons for Rule 12.


	11. Chapter 11

As they shoved him down a corridor, Clint thought he must still be suffering from the aftereffects of the stun grenade and the interrogation that had followed. He felt as if his senses had been overloaded and shut down, and were only just coming back fully. The sensations he was experiencing – the sight and smell of the damp, musty corridor, the sound of footsteps – didn't seem quite real. Even after they put him into a cell – this one had a bed, and an iron staple embedded in the wall to which they cuffed his right hand – and slammed the door, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was only half-awake.

He was gripped by a sudden paroxysm of coughing, as he tried to rid his lungs of the last of the water – no matter how good your control, if your head was held underwater long enough, eventually your reflexes took over and forced you to try to inhale – and by the time the spasm passed, he felt that he was back to reality.

Not that it made him feel a whole lot better. He'd faced the prospect of death dozens... _hundreds_ of times, with the calm conviction that either he'd get himself out of the situation, or the end would be relatively quick. Intense hand-to-hand combat, tense life-or-death struggles, pretty much whatever his work had so far required of him – he'd faced them confidently, knowing that he was trained to handle it, and his skills were honed, and that whichever way things went, he'd deal with it.

But this – the prospect of permanent darkness, of being, so far as his job was concerned, useless, of living the rest of his life, years and decades, sightless... this wasn't something he was prepared to cope with. Blind, he'd never sight another target and put an arrow unerringly into the centre of it. Never scope out a situation, come up with a plan and coordinate all his skills and senses to carry it out. Never pilot a quinjet through heavy fire and set it down exactly on the spot he'd picked out. He'd never see Tasha's face again...

Suddenly, the water he'd swallowed, during the semi-drowning that his captors had subjected him to, was surging back up his throat. He hung over the end of the bed, retching, for several minutes. When he finally straightened up, and wiped the sweat and vomit from his face, he was more than a little shocked by his violent reaction to that last realization.

Natasha was his best friend. They had the same interests, they laughed at the same jokes. They hung out even when they weren't working together. He recognized – how could he not – that she was a beautiful woman. And he knew how she felt about him. He'd occasionally been asked why he _wasn't_ dating her, and his routine answer was that he didn't want to ruin a perfectly good friendship. He'd dated his share of other women, but it would be more accurate to say he'd had hookups, rather than girlfriends. It wasn't fair on them, he'd told himself, to have a long-term relationship with a woman when he couldn't even tell her what he did for a living. Besides, none of them had ever come up to his exacting standard. And that standard, he now realized with unexpected clarity, was Tasha.

If he could have got up and paced at this point, he would have done, but the handcuff prevented it. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to sort out his thoughts. The prospect of being robbed of his eyesight, his frustration with having been caught, and being confined in this damp, cold cell, his concern over what those bullets could do – he'd picked up enough from what he'd overheard to know that it was some kind of bioweapon – it was all churning in his mind, and on top of that he was trying to deal with sorting out how he felt about his best friend.

Okay, so he was admitting to himself that what he felt for her was more than simple friendship. But did he... he found it difficult to form the thought... did he love her? Or, was he feeling and thinking like this just because he was on the edge of panic. What did they call it? Some sort of transference? He couldn't mentally or emotionally cope with the prospect of losing his eyes so he was fixating on Tasha as a way to avoid thinking about it? If he got out of this in one piece, would he recall how he was feeling right now, and cringe? No. That at least he was sure of.

He leaned back against the wall behind him, and focused. He'd been taught techniques to counteract the effects of panic, to bring down his breathing and heart rate. He had to calm down.

The last time he saw Tasha was right before the mission, when she saw him talking to Ziva. Remembering the stony mask of her face that covered how she felt about seeing him with another woman, he felt a twinge that felt like actual physical pain. He'd hurt her. He'd been hurting her for years. And now that expression could be his last memory of her face.

Except that it _wasn't_ going to be. He was going to get his shit together and get himself out of here, and he was going to go back and tell Tasha... well, he still wasn't sure what he wanted to say to her. He'd have to figure that out along the way, but first, he needed to get out.

His training began to take over. He started to assess his situation. The metal staple he was cuffed to was very thick, and most likely anchored deeply. The handcuff itself was the weak spot. They'd given him small advantage by cuffing his right hand; either they hadn't noticed he was left handed, or they hadn't considered it important. It was a point in his favour.

The bed he was sitting on – it was just a metal frame, bolted to the wall, with a mattress and blanket. He got up and pushed the mattress off the frame, looking for any weaknesses, some loose part that could be turned into a tool to pick the handcuff lock. When he looked underneath it, he saw that where the edge rested against the damp wall, rust had started to set in. It gave him a starting point. He crouched down and reached for the spot with his free hand. He managed to get his fingertips between the bed and the wall, and began to push and release the metal. Between rust, and metal fatigue caused by his repeated flexing, he hoped to break off some pieces that he could use to open the handcuff.

Now that he had something to do, he was calm again. The threat of being blinded was still at the back of his mind, but he wasn't letting it get in the way of what he needed to do. If and when they tried to do it, he'd deal with them. For now, he was focused on getting loose and planning his next move.


	12. Chapter 12

Coulson emerged from the communications room within a few minutes. "Where's Romanoff?" he asked, but before anyone could reply she walked back in past the elevators and resumed her seat. Her face was impassive. Coulson's gaze rested on her for a few moments, then he said, "I've got the go-ahead to launch a full scale attack. Director Fury wants that place cleaned out, and all biological weapons neutralized. I'll be leading the team that meets with Heberden. We'll take the case with fake bullets in it, but the real objective is to bring him in. Alive if possible." He glanced across the table. "Stark, you'll be backing us up. The meeting point is just on the other side of the island, so you'll still be able to cover the compound if necessary." Stark nodded. He'd pretty much figured he'd be suiting up for this one. "The other team will lead the force to take down the compound," Coulson continued. "All defenses neutralized, all weapons destroyed or impounded. There'll be forces in reserve to deal with the cleanup, and HazMat teams where necessary."

For a few seconds there was silence, but the expression on Gibbs's face suggested he was expecting more. Finally, he asked, "What about Barton?"

Coulson glanced away. He'd been expecting this to come up eventually and he had a feeling that Gibbs wasn't going to like the answer. Finally he said, "Barton takes care of himself."

He was right. Gibbs looked extremely unimpressed. "There's no plan to get him out?"

Coulson started to respond, but Romanoff cut across him. "No. He never has an extraction plan." Her face was a tense mask, her tone expressionless. But after that brief conversation, Ziva understood exactly how much it was costing her to say that.

Gibbs glanced disbelievingly between Coulson and Romanoff. Finally he said, "This time he does." There was something in his tone that indicated that this was not up for discussion. "Agents DiNozzo and David will be with me on this."

Coulson hesitated for a moment, but he could see there was no point in debating the point. "Right. Romanoff, you're with me, and..."

"No." She said it calmly, as if merely disagreeing with a minor detail, but she met Coulson's startled gaze with more than a hint of challenge.

"Natasha, I appreciate how you..."

"I will be on Gibbs's team for the extraction."

Her tone was final, and eventually Coulson nodded. He looked over at Gibbs. "Agent Romanoff is on your team. I'll take Agent David on mine."

Gibbs looked questioningly at Ziva, who nodded. Having seen Romanoff in action on the first mission, Ziva knew that the other woman would give the extraction plan a better chance of succeeding.

Suddenly the screen at the head of the table flicked to a communications channel, and McGee's face appeared.

"Looks like there's a second shipment of weapons headed for New York," he said without preamble. "They've got a ship about a hundred miles out from port, it's giving trace readings of the same radiation signature as the bullets."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. can handle that," Coulson said. Gibbs nodded. "McGee, you're coordinating this one. Tell them what they need to know."

"On it, boss." McGee's face vanished, and Coulson turned back to the rest of the team. "We have less than forty-five minutes to be at the rendezvous point. Agent David, I'll brief you as we go. Agent Gibbs, I suggest you do the same. Motolinia will be your pilot. My people will handle the rest of the attack on the compound. Oh, and Agent Gibbs..." Gibbs paused in the act of turning towards the elevators, and Coulson said, "Get him out in one piece." Gibbs nodded.

As the meeting finally broke up, Natasha said, "Dr Banner?" Bruce gave her his characteristic half-smile. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. "We could really use your support on this." Bruce sighed to himself. He knew what Natasha was asking, and while he'd rather not let the 'other guy' out to play, he couldn't refuse her. He nodded. "We'll be there," he said quietly.

* * *

><p>When Ziva walked into the armoury, Romanoff was already there, and it looked as if she was going in well-armed. She glanced up only briefly, then went back to her preparations, but as Ziva got her own weapons from the locker assigned to her, Natasha said, "Why is Gibbs doing this?" Ziva was more than a little surprised by the question, but Natasha went on, "Coulson was right, Clint can take care of himself. He... we never have extraction plans. Gibbs hasn't questioned S.H.I.E.L.D. procedures until now. Why over this?"<p>

"Gibbs never leaves anyone behind," Ziva said simply. She looked away as she added, "He pulled me out of a situation in North Africa once, when everyone else thought I was dead. He won't leave without Clint."

After a moment, Natasha nodded. "That's all I need to know."

* * *

><p>The teams that assembled, yet again, in the aircraft hangar, were tense and quiet. The feeling was very different from the previous raid – then, they'd just been tasked with getting a sample of ammunition. This time, they knew what they were up against. They all carried detectors programmed to recognize the virus that was stored within the compound, and everyone would be wearing a respirator. HazMat teams were going in with them, ready to start decontaminating personnel if necessary. They were tasked with stopping these lunatics, before they had the chance to unleash their nightmare on the world. And they were going back for one of their own.<p>

Coulson's team left first. Stark was to take a different route, and be waiting out of sight when the meeting with Heberden took place, ready to provide backup. They were expecting the cult leader to have heavy protection.

Then Gibbs led his team onto their quinjet. He'd already outlined their plan of attack. Their first objective was to take out the compound's communications centre, which had been pinpointed for them by tracing the signal from Heberden's video link, and the operation would have to be fast and quiet; they all knew what the man had threatened to do if they attempted a rescue.

As the pilot prepared to take off, Gibbs glanced around at his team. He knew DiNozzo's skills, and he had no doubts about Romanoff. But Banner? Well, in theory, he knew why the man was here... but knowing what he was on an intellectual level didn't completely reconcile him to accepting that the soft-spoken scientist was the most dangerous member of his team. He turned to look at Romanoff. Coulson had briefed him about the situation there; she had more to lose than the rest of them, although you'd never know it to see her calm, unhurried movements as she performed her final check on her sidearms. When it was done, she looked up and met his gaze; her expression didn't change, but Gibbs nodded slightly, and after a moment, Romanoff returned the gesture.

Then the quinjet engines started up, and the team readied themselves for what was to come.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Responding to the comment stating that Banner isn't the most dangerous person on Gibbs's team: We (the readers) know that, but for Gibbs, who has either only heard about Hulk, or possibly seen him in videos of the Battle of New York, it's not unlikely that he might believe that should be the case.  
><strong>


	13. Chapter 13

Clint slid the sliver of metal into the lock on the handcuff and probed gently, trying to hit the spot that would unlock the mechanism. He had a feeling that the metal was too thin. He withdrew it, and added a second fragment, holding the two pieces together as he tried the lock again. This felt more effective, but it still wasn't doing the job. He leant down and used his teeth to hold the metal in place, while he reached for another piece, and inserted it just below the first two. After a few minutes, he had the satisfaction of hearing the tiny click. He quickly pulled his hand free of the cuff, and got up. He just had to hope that next time the guards opened his cell, they would assume that they didn't need to use a stun grenade.

* * *

><p>This time, there was no landing at a distance and sneaking in. S.H.I.E.L.D. was throwing everything available at the compound, and crushing the defences. Gibbs's team was playing no part in the attack, other than to deal with cult members that directly threatened them. Their purpose was to get into the communications centre as fast as possible, and figure out where Barton was being held. They were able to communicate through the radios build into the respirators they all wore, but for the most part they didn't need to speak. So far, they'd met little resistance; it looked as if the moment the attack started, everyone had run to defend the perimeter, and man guns against the incoming aircraft.<p>

They made it to the reinforced door of the building, and Romanoff set an explosive charge on the lock. The noise of it going off was lost amid the roar of gunfire and explosions all around them, but as Gibbs shouldered the door open, there was a rush of footfalls towards them. He dropped the first guard with a single shot, but it gave the next a chance to reach him, and for a moment he struggled with the guard's arm around his throat. Then the grip slackened abruptly, and Gibbs turned to see Romanoff stepping calmly over the man and leading the way forward.

The building was a narrow, reinforced warehouse. About half way down, banks of video monitors and communications equipment were enclosed in a security cage. Two men were inside, and as Gibbs and his team approached, one of them hit a panic button and a heavy metal barrier dropped in front of the team, cutting them off from the communications cage, and from the freight elevator at the far end. As he raised a gun, the guard called over his shoulder, "Get down there and deal with the prisoner!" The second man ran from the cage and headed for the elevator, a knife glinting in his hand. Even as Gibbs and his team were ducking to avoid the gunfire directed at them, Romanoff yelled, "Banner!"

If he hadn't been looking directly at the man, Gibbs wouldn't have really believed it; and even so, he had some trouble getting his head around the sight of Dr Banner transforming. It reminded him on some level of the suddenness of a nuclear explosion – within seconds, he had morphed into a massive green figure, and ripped his way through the bars as if they were made of aluminum foil. The elevator doors had already closed on the guard by the time he reached it, but with a massive roar, he ripped the doors apart and hurled himself down the shaft. The building seemed to shake, and there was a rending scream of tearing metal, followed by muffled crashes below their feet.

* * *

><p>Clint knew <em>something<em> was going on. Faint sounds of gunfire and explosions penetrated even to his subterranean cell. But exactly what was happening was frustratingly unclear. He pulled himself up on the bars to look out of the narrow opening above the door, and hung there, trying to get some clue, but there seemed to be no-one in the hallway, and even if there had been, they wouldn't have been telling _him_ anything. As he dropped back to the floor, he heard sounds from much closer, right above his head. Gunshots, a heavy thud, the sound of the elevator mechanism. And then a roar, followed by another blow that shook the ground, and the shattering of concrete and metal. Clint grinned. He knew that voice. Now he heard footsteps in the corridor – human ones – and the sound of a key in the lock and bolts being drawn. He braced for a stun grenade, but none came, and when the guard opened the door, Hawkeye attacked. The guard was good, and someone less well-trained than Clint would have stood no chance. The blade flashed close to his face, and he deflected the blow with one arm, using the heel of his other hand to slam the man under the chin, forcing his head back. The guard tried to trip him, and Clint went with it, allowing himself to be knocked backwards, but twisting the man's knife hand, so that when momentum brought the other man down on top of him, the weight of his fall forced the knife up into his assailant's chest.

Clint shoved the guard off him and ripped the two way radio from his pocket, quickly changing the frequency to the one he knew Natasha would be monitoring if she was anywhere in the vicinity. And he was certain that she would be. Before he could activate it to talk, he heard thunderous footsteps coming closer, the sound of other cell doors being torn from their hinges. Then a crash, the spitting sound of an electrical circuit panel exploding, and everything went dark around him.

* * *

><p>Fortunately neither of the guards had had time to lock the communications cage, and as soon as the remaining man had gone down amid gunfire, Gibbs and DiNozzo started to systematically destroy the system, with the intent of curtailing the cult members' ability to call in any backup from remote locations. Romanoff kept going, heading for the shattered elevator shaft, but as she reached it, the radio earpiece crackled, and a familiar voice yelled, "Nat!"<p>

"Clint? Where are you?"

"In a detention area under the communications building. I'm..." he broke off and she heard him coughing, then he said, "I'm on my way up."

"We're right above you, but the elevator's torn to pieces..."

"Yeah, I figured..." he coughed again, "...but there must be be a stairc..." There was a muffled crash over the radio, and Natasha heard him swear, before saying, "I'm trying to find a staircase but I can't see a damn thing..."

Natasha's stomach clenched in horror. "Clint, are you okay? Did they..."

Incredibly, she thought she heard him laugh, then he said, "Tasha, I'm fine. It's just there's no light." It sounded like he stumbled again. "Goddamn Hulk must've taken out all the lights down here, along with most of the walls."

Before Natasha could reply, half a dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents ran in through the warehouse doors. "The compound's under our control," the leader yelled. Natasha became aware that the sound of battle outside had dwindled to sporadic gunfire. She nodded. "Barton's in the basement directly beneath us. There's a lot of damage and no lights – send someone down there to get him out."

She began to walk towards the exit. "Clint?"

"Yeah, I heard. Ten bucks says I make it out before they reach me!"

Natasha grinned. "I'll see you on the surface." She continued to the exit. Now that she knew Clint was safe, she was ready to get outside and see if the other teams had left her any asses to kick.


	14. Chapter 14

Everything had gone without a hitch. Heberden had been less heavily guarded than expected, so Iron Man had been able to take care of the guards within minutes, and head over to help with the clean-up operations at the compound. No airborne virus had been detected anywhere, and the lab where it was produced had been located on a smaller island just off the shore from the compound. Barton had been extracted – and was now undergoing a battery of tests and decontamination, much to his very outspoken disgust, just in case Heberden had had him infected during his captivity. Sending him back carrying the deadly virus might have been seen as the perfect opportunity to wipe out the one organization that might be able to stop the cult's apocalyptic plans.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had suffered relatively few casualties during the attack. Now they had Heberden on his way to the helicarrier, under tight quarantine, for interrogation, it seemed that the crisis was over, and there was an atmosphere of suppressed relief among the participants in the raids.

And Coulson didn't like it one bit. It felt too easy. It felt too much like last summer – when they'd assumed that the situation was under control once Loki was in custody. Coulson couldn't shake himself of the feeling that this was exactly what Heberden had expected them to do. This was one of the reasons for the heavy precautions they were taking with the man. Not only had he been taken into custody by personnel in HazMat suits, but they'd put him into one – not to keep anything out, but to keep the virus in, if he'd decided to infect himself and carry out a final suicide mission.

As the quinjet approached the helicarrier, Coulson radioed ahead and made sure that they had a containment room ready. Heberden would be secured within it, and the interrogation would be conducted remotely.

When Coulson got back to the operations room, his first move was to join Gibbs in the conference area, where the NCIS agent was talking to McGee via satellite link. "S.H.I.E.L.D. intercepted the arms shipment," McGee was saying. "They found the modified guns, but there was no ammunition for them. It looks like they were planning to have someone else bring it in later."

Coulson exchanged a look with Gibbs. He could see that the other man wasn't looking too pleased. Presumably, he was having the same doubts as Coulson. After a moment, Gibbs said, "Keep the scan going for the radioactivity signature. We're not assuming that this is over yet."

"Right, boss, Rule 8 in effect."

As the comm screen went blank, Coulson said, "I take it you also think this was too easy."

Gibbs nodded. "If they're so anxious for the apocalypse, why didn't they start it when they still had the chance?"

"Precisely. We're keeping Heberden and Barton in level four isolation, and testing both of them case the plan was to get an infected carrier into the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D." He brought up a visual of Heberden's detention cell on the view screen. The man was sitting calmly amid the shield personnel who were all wearing protective lab suits as they took blood samples, and attached sensors to monitor his body temperature and other vitals. "If he starts showing signs of illness we can contain it."

"What do you plan to do with him if he does?" Gibbs asked.

"We'll let the disease run its course – that will give us a lot of valuable information about how the virus is intended to work, and possible ways to fight it."

To Gibbs, it sounded pretty cold-blooded. Not that he disagreed. The cult leader had been planning, at some point, to unleash the virus on the world. But if he was infected, it would take a very strong stomach to watch him die from the horrifying combination of smallpox and Ebola. "And Barton?" he questioned.

Coulson was silent for a moment. He really didn't want to contemplate that eventuality. But at length he said, "If the disease manifests in him... he'll have options..." He didn't elaborate. But he wasn't going to force Clint to suffer the full horror of a slow, bloody death. He'd be given the opportunity to check out early.

* * *

><p>Clint Barton was not impressed. He'd made it out of the partially-collapsed basement in one piece, ready to join the battle, only to be surrounded by personnel in HazMat suits, who had unceremoniously stripped him where he stood and scrubbed him with disinfectant, before sealing him in a suit and taking him back to the helicarrier. Since then, he'd been scrubbed again and tested for any indications that he might be carrying the virus. He felt slightly raw all over, and he was exercising his mastery of profanity in multiple languages every time someone came with yet another needle to stick in his veins.<p>

The situation wasn't helped by the persistent cough that had been plaguing him ever since the near-drowning. Sure, sure, just inhaled water, he'd been told, in the manner of someone humouring a small child. Nothing to worry about. But just in case, we're going to stick needles into your chest and take samples directly from your lungs.

And they weren't even feeding him. The IV in his arm was providing all the hydration and nutrients he needed, they'd assured him. His offer to take out the tube himself and share his dessert with everyone had not been well received.

He shifted uncomfortably in the bed; with all S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources, they couldn't even provide hospital beds that didn't feel like they were made of concrete; and the flimsy paper hospital gown stuck to him in all the wrong places, as he took pains to point out to everyone. He wasn't allowed visitors, and he had nothing to do so he was also bored out of his mind. His attempt to simultaneously relieve the boredom and annoy his caretakers by singing a song with highly questionable lyrics, that he'd picked up during his carny days, had been met with a threat to sedate him if his off-key rendition of 'Four and Twenty Virgins' didn't stop immediately.

Now, a few hours later, he was tempted to start up again. At least that way he'd get some sleep! 


	15. Chapter 15

The interrogation was not going well. Or, more accurately, it was not going anywhere at all. Heberden remained calm, his expression impassive. He would listen to the questions put to him, then quote from his cult's manifesto. He seemed to be treating the entire situation as an opportunity to preach his philosophy of a world sunk so deep in its old habits that the only way to achieve change was to 'wipe the slate clean' as he put it.

Gibbs was finding it very frustrating to conduct the interrogation via video link. He had no doubt that he could have been far more effective if he was in the same room with the man, but until they could definitively rule out that Heberden was not carrying the virus, there was no way he would be allowed in there, except if he was wearing a biohazard suit, and he felt that would be even less effective. Being suited up because you were afraid that someone could give you a terrifying disease made it difficult to intimidate them.  
>Heberden almost seemed to be waiting for something. If he were actually infected, then perhaps he was waiting to become contagious. But even if that happened, he was under such stringent isolation that he could achieve nothing, except perhaps to become a martyr in his own mind.<p>

Long after the attempted interrogation had entered its fourth hour, the communications link flashed red, indicating that McGee was on the line. "Gibbs, we just got another radiation reading – we're still trying to pinpoint it, but this one looks like it's in the city. I'm patching you in on the search..."

The was a pause, then a visual appeared on the screen next to the video link, showing a map of New York City. As they watched, the resolution sharpened, and the search narrowed down. Finally a red dot began to flash, and a street address displayed next to it.

"We just got a second reading from the same location," McGee said, his gaze directed off the the side, obviously reading another screen. "And a third. And these aren't the intermittent traces we were getting before. These are strong and continuous."

"Someone's priming the bullets for use," Coulson said. "Heberden must have had sleepers already in New York. Probably waiting for a signal from him... or a failure to check in at a scheduled time, indicating that he's been taken prisoner."

"We need to get people to..." Gibbs said, but Coulson interrupted him.

"That location is less than half a mile from Stark Tower – McGee, put the senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on..." But the video link showed only an empty chair, which was suddenly filled by an agent Gibbs didn't know.

He was young, and he looked pale and scared, but his voice was steady as he said, "Sir, the team's already gone out. They left as soon as they realized what was happening."

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs had a bad feeling that he knew the answer to that one already.

"Sir, he went with the team."

* * *

><p>Getting to the building was the easy part. Finding the cult members was proving to be a lot harder. It was an office building, not big by New York standards, but they had less than an hour to search it before the first bioweapon could be fired. The S.H.I.E.L.D. team split into two units, one started on the ground floor and began working upwards, the other headed for the roof. McGee joined the second team – he had a feeling that if someone wanted to spread an airborne virus as far as possible, they'd start some place high. The elevators were unresponsive, so they took the stairs – all the time, McGee was checking his watch, seeing the minutes tick down agonizingly fast.<p>

One floor from the roof, they met resistance. 'Fish in a barrel' was the phrase that came to McGee's mind when the bullets started ricocheting into the stairwell around them. To the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, it seemed, this was pretty routine stuff. They dealt efficiently with the defenders, and as they moved in to deal with the last man, who was out of ammunition, McGee was able push past them, and get to the roof.

According to his watch, they were just about out of time. Expecting to see a well-armed team of cultists, McGee was surprised to see one man, barely out of his teens, with two of the modified guns at his feet, and the other one in his hand. He was checking his watch, and by the looks of it, the countdown was done, because he smiled, and raised the gun at arm's length, pointing straight up, preparing to fire.

With a sense that this was the most important shot he would ever make, McGee raised his own gun. When he looked back on it later, he remembered the scene as eerily quiet, and so slow that it was almost painful. A single gunshot rang out, and the cultist stared at him, meeting his gaze, his expression shocked. He just stood there, not moving, as a red stain began to spread on his chest. It felt like forever, but in truth it was only for the length of time that it took McGee to shift his aim slightly and put the next bullet through the man's forehead. His head snapped back, and finally he fell, the hand holding the gun flung out to the side, and the deadly bullet unfired.

* * *

><p>On the helicarrier, Gibbs and Coulson waited, as the agent at Stark Tower tried to keep them updated on what was happening. A timer displayed on the screen showed how much time had elapsed since the first radiation signal had been detected, and when it finally ran out, Gibbs and Coulson exchanged a glance. Neither spoke, and the silence stretched out. Then a crackle of static made them both jump slightly, and McGee's voice came over the radio.<p>

"We got 'em, boss."

* * *

><p>The sense of relief spread quickly through the personnel on the helicarrier, but Natasha didn't relax until she got the word she'd been waiting for. The results from the multiple tests run on Clint had come back, showing him to be free from the deadly virus, and he had been moved to a regular room in the sick bay.<p>

As Natasha approached the room, she could hear voices raised. She paused outside the open door, hearing a doctor say "... at least 48 hours..."

Clint's reply was brief and colourful, then Coulson's voice cut across them. "Get back in that bed, Barton. That's a direct order." Clint started to answer, but his words were choked off by a violent attack of coughing. When it subsided, Coulson said, "We didn't send a team into that place to pull you out, just so you can disobey doctor's orders and ruin your health." By his tone of voice, he was completely out of patience. "And you can start cooperating with the medical staff, or I'll have you put in restraints, or sedated! Or both!"

There was a pause, during which Clint presumable complied with the order, because Coulson said, "And you stay there for 24 hours!"

Coulson and the doctor emerged from the room, with the doctor protesting, "It should be no less than 48 hours..." and as they passed Natasha, she heard Coulson mutter, "You'll be lucky if he stays there for 12."

Natasha walked into the room, and waited while a nurse changed a medication drip bag then departed, apparently oblivious to Clint's scowl. In a reminiscent tone of voice, Natasha said, "I haven't seen Coulson that riled since Budapest." She nodded towards the IV line. "What's that?" she asked.

When he saw her, Clint's expression changed. He was pleased to see her, but at the same time, he seemed almost nervous, as she sat on the edge of the bed facing him.

Clint glanced at the IV bag and said, "Antibiotics. I've got aspiration pneumonia from inhaling water during the interrogation." He shrugged. Now that Natasha was here, he was less concerned about being forced to stay in the sick bay. He still hadn't completely figured out what he wanted to say, but he was going to try anyway.

"Thanks for coming back for me," he said.

It was Natasha's turn to shrug. "That was Gibbs's call. When he found out there was no extraction plan, he insisted on putting a team together." She glanced away. "But even if he hadn't..." She let the words trail away. She really didn't need to say it – they always had each others' backs, that was just understood.

Clint nodded and there was silence between them. Then he said, "I'm sorry."

Natasha frowned. "For what?"

"For hurting you." Natasha still looked confused, so Clint went on, awkwardly, "With Ziva. With all the others, over the years. I never really understood how much I was hurting you, even though I knew how you felt." Clint looked away, trying to find the words to explain the realization he'd come to, back in that prison cell. "Tasha, you're my best friend. I thought that was enough for me. It wasn't until I thought that I might... that they would..."

Even now, it was hard to talk about what he'd felt when they'd threatened to blind him. But it was too important not to go on. Feeling even more awkward, he reached out and took her hand. "When I thought that... that they'd take my sight... I was terrified. I was almost panicking. And the worst part was... it was knowing that I'd never see your face again." He met her gaze, and what he saw there helped him go on. "I'd thought friendship was enough for me but now... now I know that it's not."

Natasha was silent for a moment, trying not to let herself hope. Then she said, "Clint... are you saying that you want...?"

Clint rubbed his free hand over his face. "Honestly, Tasha, I don't know what I want. Your friendship is the thing I value most. I don't want to risk losing it. But I think maybe it's time to take that risk. To move beyond friendship, see where it takes us." His hand tightened slightly on hers. "I'm confused as hell right now, this is a whole new situation for me. I just know that... that you're the most important thing in my life. And whatever it takes, whatever I have to do... I can't lose you."

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Clint was sure he'd made a complete mess of explaining, that he'd ruined everything. And then she smiled, and he knew she understood.

"Don't worry," Natasha said softly. "You won't."

* * *

><p>Ziva was quiet during the ride from the airport back to headquarters. She'd intended to visit Clint before they left the helicarrier, just to say goodbye, but when she approached his room in the sick bay, she realised just in time that he wasn't alone. Hearing his words to Natasha, and the reply, Ziva had stopped. The night she'd spent with Clint had been very pleasant, but she'd known at the time that it had been just a hookup. From the sound of it, he'd made some decisions during his captivity. Ziva had not wanted to complicate things for him, so she'd slipped soundlessly away from his room, and hadn't returned.<p>

As the car arrived at NCIS headquarters, Ziva smiled to herself. She honestly hoped that things worked out for Clint and Natasha.

* * *

><p>McGee arrived outside NCIS headquarters at around the same time as the rest of his team. When he'd first learnt that he would be going to New York, instead of heading for the helicarrier, he'd been disappointed. He'd wished that he could see the amazing technology that S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to. And he'd felt just a little resentful that he'd be the one missing out. But now, knowing what he'd helped prevent – well, that feeling of accomplishment was worth everything. The kid on the roof had been about to unleash a true horror on the world, and McGee had been the one who'd stopped him. Even if he never achieved anything else in his life, this would make it all worthwhile.<p>

After the greetings and congratulations from the team, Gibbs's nod of approval, and Abby's excited chatter as they walked to the elevator, Tim was feeling pretty good.

So he was unprepared for the reaction he got when he sneezed.

Everyone stopped talking, and DiNozzo actually took a step back. Tim frowned, confused at first, then he understood. "Seriously guys?"

"You sneezed!" Abby might have been accusing him of a terrible crime.

"Yeah, I sneezed. It's just a cold."

"That you caught in New York!" DiNozzo was backed right up against the elevator doors now.

"Yeah, so?"

"So maybe it's not 'just a cold'!"

"Nothing got released. SHIELD tested the weapons, they took samples, there is no possibility that I could have caught anything..." Tim stopped, catching the grin exchanged between Abby and Tony. "Right. Very funny! You two have fun planning this?"

Tony shrugged as the elevator doors opened, and said, "It passed the time." He waited until they were all in the elevator except McGee, then he hit the 'Close Doors' button and said quickly, "All the same, you're taking the stairs," as the doors shut in McGee's face.

Tim went to the stairwell, and as he opened the door, he muttered to himself, "This is the thanks I get for saving the world?" He shook his head, and started up the stairs.

* * *

><p>THE END<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes.<strong>

So that's it. Just some random thoughts about it:

- This was a lot of fun to write, even though not everything turned out the way I had originally planned.

- I thought there'd be more with Abby and the Science Bros, but it just didn't work out, and I desperately wanted Coulson to Gibbs-slap Tony Stark but I just couldn't figure out how to work it in.

- I didn't think it would have any Clintasha, but I guess you can't fight fate.

- Yes, I did intend to depict Clint as a bad patient, but I think I created a monster!

- I have the beginnings of some ideas for a potential sequel, but I'm not promising anything.

- And the whole fanfic came about because I saw a picture of Pauley Perrette and Jeremy Renner (at the Grammys?) and thought "Hey, it would be cool to have a crossover between NCIS and the Avengers."


End file.
